If Ever Two Were One
by Nimbus 1944
Summary: a Valentine's Day story. R/Hr.


**If Ever Two Were One****  
a Valentine's Day story.**

If ever two were one, then surely we;  
If ever man was loved by wife, then thee;  
If ever wife was happy with a man,  
Compare with me, ye women, if ye can.  
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,  
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that rivers cannot quench,  
Nor aught but love from thee give recompense  
Thy love is such I can no way repay;  
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.  
Then while we live in love let's so persevere,  
That when we live no more we may live ever.

- Anne Bradstreet, _To My Dear and Loving Husband_  
(1647)

* * *

_To this day, George says it actually began years earlier at Rosmerta's, while Ron and Hermione vehemently deny that night ever happened. Who knows._

_As George tells it, it couldn't be foreseen, really. _

_Butterbeer is just an innocent, pleasant drink. It's not some powerful beverage or sophorific — by itself. _

_However..._

_Spiked with Insta-Jag by the Weasley twins, it's quite a different story._

_So, George's tale is a different story._

"Hermione, did anyone ever tell you that your eyes sparkle like the stars in the sky on a winter evening?"

"No, Ron. And _you _won't tell me that, either, in the morning."

"I'm telling you now. You eyes spark..."

"Yes, I got that part. I think it's the butterbeer talking. Tonight it's unusually swill... er, swell. It's quite good. I... Well, if I didn't know better, I'd say I was getting drunk."

"You can't know better and be drunk, Hermione. It's either one or the other. Which?"

"At the moment, the judges are out."

"I say you're drunk. And I'm drunk too. So there. And your eyes are like.... oh, I forget now, but it was a nice line."

"Something about stars."

"Oh, stars? Alright. Um... Your eyes sparkle like... Canis Major."

"Canis Major? That means great big dog."

"Hee hee hee..."

"Are you saying I have dog's eyes?"

"Uh... that's not always bad, Hermione, it could be good. Fluffy had nice eyes. Really big."

"And six of them, and Fluffy wanted to bite our heads off. Bad simile, Ron."

"Can't help you, then. Have another butterbeer."

"Sure. Good idea. It's swell tonight... Wait—did I say that already?"

"I think so. But I'm not sure. I might have said it."

"Whatever. Cheers, Ron. I think this might be my last round. I'm feeling a bit... heady."

"Too soon to quit. Goin' to miss all the fun."

"Fun? What fun?"

" Well, 'magine if ev'rybody's drinkin' this stuff. Place's goin' to be hoppin' soon."

"Might be, but I can only stay for one more round."

"There's prob'ly only two more roun's 'fore she closes, anyway."

"Oh. Okay, Ron, two rounds, but that's it."

"Got to get yer beauty sleep, huh?"

"Beauty... are you saying I'm not beautiful?"

"Nah! I... Did I ever tell you your eyes sparkle like..."

"I think you did."

"Like Regulus Major."

"Why Regulus Major?"

"I don' know. It was jus' a nice star. A nice star. Your eyes are like a nice star. Pick one. Hah! Your eyes're like Mars. You're eyes're like Saturn. Your eyes're like..."

"Stop. Don't say it."

"What?"

"Jus' don't go there. I'm in no mood."

"Wull, if ye're not in a mood, then why not?"

""Okay, go ahead. I dare you."

"Your eyes're like Ura... OW! Wha' was that for?"

"For going there. Bad astronomy. 10 points from Dryffingor. Gryffindor. Whoa..."

"You're drunk, Hermione."

"I'm not drunk. Nowheres near drunk. I'm light-headed an' cheerful. I'm enjoyin' m'self."

"Nuther round?"

"Round? Sure. I'm not drivin' tonight."

"Drivin'?"

"Yes, you non-Muggle. I can drive a car soon, y'know. I'm almos' old enough. I'll have a licence. You couldn't get one if you tried."

"Sure I could. I drove Dad's car."

"Yeah, into a tree! For 'nother thing, you're magic folk. No paper trail. They don't know you exist. You couldn't possibly get a licence to drive, or to fly, or to marry, or anything."

"I can fly without some Muggle licence. An' marry? Sure I could marry. Wanna get married, Hermione?"

"Is that a proposal?"

".... Don't ask me. I'm drunk."

""No proposals tonight, then?"

"Nah, not tonight. Prob'ly not smart. I'm trying to cut down, anyway."

"On proposals? Do you propose much?"

"Sure! All the time."

"Everybody says no, huh?"

"Naah! I propose, the girl says yes, an' then I say no."

"That makes no sense, Ron."

"Sure it does. I'm savin' m'self."

"For who?"

"... Y'know."

"No, I don't, Ron. Who?"

"Bloody... that's a pers'nal question. When I get married, you'll know who."

"Will I be there?"

"Better be."

"Why? Am I the bride?"

"... That's a trick question."

"No, it's not. Are you going to marry me, Ron?"

"Is that a proposal?"

"Um... wait a minute. . how did you do that? Turned it around!"

"I turned it around?"

"Yeah. You're s'posed to be perposing to me."

"So you can say yes, and then I'm trapped?"

"Only if y' wanna be..."

"I don' know..."

"Me neither. Ron, are you still hangin' 'roun' for more roun's, or're we goin' back to Hogwarts while we can still walk?"

"Hogwarts? Wuzzat gotta do with it?"

"I don'know. If it's Sunday, we have to get t'school tomorrow. Go to class."

"It's not. Sadd'day. No class t'morrow."

"Oh."

"Nuther roun'?"

"Nah! I'm drivin'!"

"Y'know, H'miney, yer eyes're like..."

"Don' say it."

"Unamus. Shamus. Whatever. Yer eye're like that. So, there."

"I'm s'posed to slap you again for that."

"Don' slap me 'gain. Not s'posd to slap someone when they're perposin'."

"Wow, Ron. Yer pr'posing? It's hard to tell."

"I don' know. Why? Did summun else perpose? Vicky or summun? I'm too late! Bloody hell, I'm too late!"

"I should go home. Feelin'... heady."

"Yeah. Better go home 'fore ya get drunk!"

"I never get drunk, Misser Weasley!"

"Well, I think yer drunk now, Miz Granger!"

"Can't be. Don' wanna get locomotored back to Hogwarts. Not proper. Can't drive. No, walk. Whatever."

"Well, I can't drive ya. No licence. Not a muggle."

"An' y'hit a tree."

"Tree, yeah. Whompin' Willow. I wager Ol'vander made my new wand outa him. Got a whompin' willow wand now."

"Whompin' willa wan'. Nice litter.. allitri... a-lit-ter-a-tion."

"What?"

"All the W's, nice. I... am... drunk, Ron!"

"Wha' makes y'think that?"

"You stopped preposing. Nobody pr'poses to a drunk."

" 'Cept 'nuther drunk. Then it's all right."

"Why is it all right?"

"Cos you can deny ev'rything in the mornin'."

"So if I excepted your perposal, it wouldn' count?"

"I perposed?"

"I'm pretty sure y'did, someplace back there. Yeah, y'did. So, too late. I except!"

"What?"

"I except! I'll marry you, Red!... so I must be drunk! Bedder kiss the bride b'fore she changes her mind."

_While the two were distracted in snoggatory pleasure, Fred and George switched mugs and gave them butterbeer laced with Jag-Stop, the fast-acting antidote. Then, from their nearby table, they toasted the hapless couple on their engagement, and sat back to watch the fur fly._

_Of course, nothing came of it, least of all an engagement. Their daily bickering continued at legendary levels._

_**-o-**_

_Over time, as we know, they did become friends, close friends. Years later, after the war, the topic arose again, this time in a more conventional manner. _

_Ron had outdone himself on his beginner's salary. But it was a very beautiful ring._

"It's… lovely!"

"It's yours, Hermione—if you'll have it."

Hermione Granger took her eyes off the sparkler to look his way. "Who put you up to asking: Ginny, or Harry?"

"Now there you go. Nobody put me up to it!"

"Did they pitch a little Imperius curse, maybe? Or was it love potion?"

"Why would you possibly think that?"

"Because you're a bold and brave warrior, sweetie, except when it's time to talk about us. When it comes to rings and things, you've always turned into a shy, squiggly little bowlful of gelatine. I love you, but you know I'm right!"

"Well… yeah, maybe. But…"

"Or Harry still hasn't used up all his Felix Felicis; is that it? Did he ask you if you were feeling lucky tonight?"

"I wish he had. I still think Ginny stole the bottle and used it all on herself getting him. That other git was still ringing her up, y'know; I half-expected she's end up with Cormac Whoozis if Harry didn't get off his ..."

"_Cormac?_ Oh, codswallop. Did she tell you that? If she did, it was just to tweak you and Harry both. I always knew some boyfriend of hers stood no chance when she'd say, 'Oh, he's _so_ history!' Well, that's one thing she _never _said about Harry. Ever since he was just a puppy-love for her, she always held out hope. 'His valentine's still in the post,' she'd say, even when she was dating someone else in case it never came. Mr. Potter—your fellow bowl of gelatine—finally had to endure the ultimate embarrassment of having _her _propose to _him!"_

"At least he accepted."

"What are you saying, Ron?"

"Well, I just now handed you my ring and you still haven't said yes. It's 'lovely,' y'say? I knew that! I picked it out!"

"It is lovely, I'll say that. And there is a certain amount of good looks in the ginger hunk who handed it to me."

"Well, then?"

"I'm thinking about it. I'm a girl, remember."

"And I'm the 'ginger hunk' who brought the ruddy ring!"

"Noted. Advantage Weasley. However, when the bride goes to her wedding, she marries the hunk she loves, not the ringbearer. Pardon me a moment." She took out a pocket notebook and began paging through it, humming tunelessly.

"Hermione, why are you looking at your calendar?"

"You just think it's a calendar. It's a Date Book, see? It says so right on the cover. It's my little black book — my list of hunks for dating."

"Your very short book of hunks, I might point out."

"All too true, but I'm just checking; wouldn't want to shortchange myself. Now, which one were you again?"

"Uh, the good-looking hunk who finally got up the courage to propose? The one you're now lopping off at the knees, just for fun?"

"Ooh, _that_ one! Okay. And you're… let's see, you're in here someplace... oh. You're... Ronald, right?"

"All day."

"Just checking... Hmmm... Now, which one are you, Ronald A. Weasley or Ronald B.?"

"Hermione, you twit! There's no Ronald A. Weasley!"

"No? Oh. Must be a clerical error, then; sorry. Let's see now... that moves you up to numberrrr... one! Ergo, I can accept. So, yes, I'm yours, you romantic fool."

"You sure now?"

"Yes, Ron."

"Oh! Oh. Well, then..."

Yes, Ron."

"If you'll have me..."

"RON! YES already!"

* * *

Original story material is the property of the fanfic author; other material of Rowling et al. falls under the usual disclaimer.


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